


shingle

by helsinkibaby



Category: The Flying Doctors
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: 1-million-words, F/M, Het, Romance, canon character death, happy ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 11:51:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17866748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: The day they bury her dad is the longest day of Chris’s life.





	shingle

**Author's Note:**

> For February bingo, prompt “it’s always been you”

The day they bury her father is the longest day of Chris’s life. 

On one hand, it feels like she’s in the middle of a bad dream, like none of this is real, even though she’s known it was inevitable. Yet in another way, it’s hyper real, the culmination of months of waiting and watching and nursing him through his illness and she feels every second of every minute passing. The readings - beautiful, meaningful, picked especially by her dad - bring a lump to her throat, the choir’s singing makes tears roll down her cheeks and the sound of the earth falling upon the coffin sounds like a gunshot, makes her wince. 

But nothing is as bad as the steady stream of mourners who line up at the graveside to shake her hand, to offer condolences. It seems to go on forever - her father had worked in Melbourne for a long time, he had a lot of colleagues, a lot of friends - and eventually one round of whispered sorrows bleeds into another until Chris can hardly see the people who are standing right in front of her. 

Until a soft “G’day, Chris,” like an electric shock breaks through her misery. 

She’s sure she gasps, knows her head shoots up to stare into Tom’s hazel eyes. “You’re here,” is all she can say and his lips twitch in a kind smile as he reaches out one hand to her shoulder. 

“I got in this morning,” he tells her, squeezing her shoulder gently. “I’m so sorry, Chris.” 

Hated tears rise in her throat and she wants nothing more than to throw herself into his arms, to hold onto him and never let go. She knows, however, if she does that right now, she’ll start crying and she might never stop. Maybe he knows that, because his lips twitch again, this time in an expression of sympathy that nearly does her in altogether. He opens his mouth to speak then closes it again, glancing to his left and the line of mourners, smaller now, that are still waiting to talk to her. He inclines his head slightly in their direction. “I should-”

Chris nods, understanding. “You’re coming back to the house?” 

His shoulders relax so slightly that she’s sure if anyone else was watching him, they’d never notice. “I’ll see you there,” is all he says as he moves away. 

Chris watches him go, for so long that Cassie, her cousin and keeper of her sanity over the last few weeks, actually nudges her. Her eyes are narrowed but there’s a funeral friendly smile on her face that lasts until she gets Chris into the car back to the house. “So, that was Tom.” 

Her voice might be neutral but Chris’s cheeks heat anyway. She settles for a simple, “Yes,” and tries to stop her hands from making fists in her skirt. 

She hopes Cassie won’t say anything else but she should have known better. Cassie speaks bluntly, like only a best friend and relative can. “Listen, Chris, I know you never really got over him but just…” She sighs, shakes her head. “Just be careful, all right?” 

Chris doesn’t say anything in reply, just closes her eyes and lets her head fall back against the headrest. 

When they arrive back at the house, there are already people there, Aunt Janet, Cassie’s mother, having opened up the place and making people welcome. Chris picks Tom out straight away, his tall frame being a dead giveaway. His clothes, his black suit and tie and white shirt mean that he fits in with the other men dotted about the living room but it startles Chris, because it’s not how she’s used to seeing Tom. Her gaze keeps returning to him and she half expects him to seek her out, but he doesn’t. At one point, she finds him deep in conversation with Cassie and it strikes no small amount of fear into her heart, at least until the house has emptied out and Cassie, Tom and Chris are the last three there. 

“Well, I guess I’ll get going,” Cassie says, like she hasn’t spent the last few nights in one of the spare rooms, like she wasn’t planning to stay there again tonight. “I’ll call you in the morning.” She leans in, hugs Chris who returns it warmly. “You’ll be ok,” she says into Chris’s ear and Chris isn’t sure if it’s a question or a statement. 

It’s no clearer when the front door closes behind Cassie and she finds herself alone with Tom for the first time in months. It’s what she’s wished for all day, what she’s dreamed of for months - years really - and now that it’s finally here, she’s not sure of what to say. 

Tom saves her, with another twitch of his lips and a twinkle of his eyes. “Alone at last,” he quips and, just like that, Chris is laughing without really knowing why. 

She’s not sure who moves first, but the next thing she knows, her arms are around Tom’s waist, her head buried in his chest. His arms are around her, holding her tightly and she can feel his chin resting on the top of her head. It’s strange and achingly familiar all at once and she closes her eyes, lets herself get lost in the sensation. 

She’s wanted this. 

She’s needed this. 

An all too brief eternity later, they pull away and Tom looks down at her as he moves his hands to her shoulders. “How are you?” he asks. 

All Chris can do is shake her head. “I honestly don’t know.” She takes a step back from him, kicks off her shoes and throws them into the corner. She figures he won’t care; he’s seen her a damn sight more disheveled than that. 

In fact, he seems to take it as an invitation, pulls off his tie and removes his jacket, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, then rolling his sleeves up. He looks more like the Tom she remembers then and her heart skips a beat. “You didn’t have to come,” she tells him when the silence threatens to stretch on and he gives her one of those looks - tilted head, raised eyebrow - that lets her know he thinks she’s talking nonsense. 

“Where else would I be?” he asks her and she has to look down then, has to swallow hard against a sudden fresh onslaught of tears. He must see that because he crosses to her again, drapes his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. “Come on,” he says, “let’s get you something to eat.” 

What they scavenge from the leftovers is not up to Nancy Buckley’s culinary standards but Chris hasn’t eaten since breakfast and she doesn’t care. A plate of sandwiches shared between them on the back porch steps is the best thing she’s eaten in ages, made better because Tom seems to know she doesn’t want to talk about herself, keeps up a steady stream of Cooper’s Crossing gossip that makes her laugh and want to cry all at once. 

“When do you go back?” she asks him innocently and that’s when he drops the bombshell. 

“I don’t.” 

It takes her a moment for the words to register in her brain, another for her to work out their meaning. “What?” She’s staring at him, she knows, but she can’t do anything else. “What do you mean?” 

“The Kimblerly,” he tells her and she thinks, but doesn’t say, that it’s better than Africa. “They’re stuck for doctors up there… and I needed a change.” 

Apart from the location, it’s much the same as what he said to her years ago. She bites her lip at the memory, wraps her arms around herself and looks down the garden, past Dad’s rose bushes and Mum’s hydrangeas. “I thought you were happy in Cooper’s Crossing.” 

“I was.” His voice is quiet, serious, and when Chris looks over at him, his eyes are fixed firmly on her face. “But it’s not the same any more.” 

Her stomach turns over and she’s not sure if it’s in a good or bad way. “It’s your home,” she hears herself saying and he chuckles as he shakes his head. 

“That’s what I thought too.” 

It’s all he says and Chris frowns. “I don’t understand.” 

Tom presses his lips together, glances down the garden briefly then back at her. “I wasn’t going to tell you today,” he says and this time when her stomach twists, there’s something fiery, almost angry, with it. “You’ve just buried your dad, you don’t need-”

“I need the truth.” The asperity is clear as day in her voice and he sighs, turns to her again. 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I guess you do.” He pauses, takes a deep breath before reaching out and taking one of Chris’s hands in both of his. 

“I’ve missed you,” he tells her and her heart begins to pound. “I knew that… and when I started feeling off in Cooper’s Crossing, I thought it was just itchy feet hitting me, making me want to do something new, you know what I’m like…” He gives a self deprecating shrug. “So I took the new job, worked my notice… and it just so happened that the day we got word about your dad was my last day there.” 

“So you’re just passing through?” 

It’s not a nice thought but the speed at which he shakes his head speaks volumes about how much he doesn’t want her to think that. “I would have been here no matter what. You know that.” There’s no recrimination in that simple statement of fact and Chris looks down, nods. “But I got here… and seeing you… holding you again… I figured it out.” 

Chris frowns again. “Figured what out?” 

Tom looks down at her hand still wrapped in both of his. “Cooper’s Crossing wasn’t my home, Chris. Not really. Seeing you every day, being able to talk to you, see you smile… that’s what made it home.” Tears flood Chris’s eyes, making Tom’s face blurry but she doesn’t look away from him, couldn’t if she tried. “It’s you, Chris,” he tells her and his palm is warm on her cheek, thumb swiping away the tears that have begun to slide down her cheeks. “It’s always been you.” 

She falls into him then, buries her face in the crook of his neck and closes her eyes. She cries until she can cry no more and he holds her, whispers words she can’t make out and runs his fingers through her hair. 

When the storm has passed, she straightens up, wipes her eyes. He’s looking at her with a slight frown on his face. “Is it a good sign when a woman collapses weeping after a confession of love?” he wonders, his eyes only half amused. 

She shakes her head with a tiny laugh. “You do pick your moments, Tom Callaghan,” she accuses. He can’t deny it though, so he shrugs instead. “You’re just lucky I love you too.” 

The smile that flashes across Tom’s face is bright and brilliant and for just a moment it’s enough to make Chris believe that anything is possible. 

Then reality comes crashing in. 

“But where does that get us? You’re going to the Kimberly… I’m here…” She waves her arm in a sweeping motion, encompassing the house, the garden, everything. “It’s Africa all over again.” 

Tom hesitates for barely a second. “Come with me.” She blinks, stares dumbstruck at him and even he looks a bit surprised at the words. Then he nods once, continues, warming to his theme. “I mean it, Chris… come with me. You don’t need to give notice to the supply panel, I’m sure Cassie and your aunt will keep an eye on this place until you figure out what you want to do with it long term… and I wasn’t kidding a few minutes ago, they do need doctors up there…” He narrows his eyes. “We could go into practice together.” He says it like it’s a memory, like it’s something he’s heard someone else say and from the way he goes silent, thoughtful, she’s guessing that’s exactly what happened. 

“Randall and Callaghan, you mean?” she asks, putting her name first just to see what he says. 

He doesn’t blink, just shrugs and surprises her one more time. “I was thinking Callaghan and Callaghan if you must know,” he tells her. “But I can see where that would be confusing.” He lifts their joined hands then, brings her knuckles to his lips and he grins at the dazed expression she knows she must be wearing. “What do you say, Chris? Will you set your shingle out with me?” 

She shakes her head but not as a refusal. “This can’t be happening,” she says. “People don’t make decisions like this in real life.” 

“Maybe not,” Tom allows. “But that’s their loss.” His fingers tighten around hers, his smile tightening too, just a little. “Chris?” 

Chris looks around her then, at the house she grew up in, the garden she played in, Dad’s roses and Mum’s hydrangeas, all the memories, good and bad, of her past. 

Then she looks at Tom, all hopeful smile and steady eyes and warm hands and her future opens up before her. 

“Yes,” is all she says but when he kisses her for the first time in years and it feels like coming home, that one word is more than enough.


End file.
